Man's Best Friend (SPN Version)
by FraidyCat
Summary: Brief oneshot set in S-8, in which Dean and Sam speak of the past — and the future.


**Man's Best Friend (SPN Version)**

**by FraidyCat**

**Disclaimer:** All things Supernatural owned and operated by CW, Eric Kripke, et al.

**SPN • SPN • SPN • SPN • SPN • SPN • SPN • SPN**

Dean waited impatiently in line, the squealing children in front of him clamoring for a special treat, yet often unable to make up their minds when it was their turn to order. A few times he glanced back, to make sure Sam was still in an upright position on the park bench. Once, he glanced back to see another male adult waiting behind him in line. Holding tightly to the hand of a little girl, the man smiled cordially at Dean. "Wonderful day," he said, then nodded at the row of children in front of Dean. "Which one is yours?"

Dean's gaze strayed toward Sam, again. His brother was hunched into his hoodie on a day when everyone else was wearing shorts and tank tops. "He's… back at the swings with his mother," he lied, and the stranger accepted his story at face value. "Looks like it's finally your turn," he noted, and Dean pivoted to find the ice cream man looking at him expectantly.

"Two cones," Dean said, pulling a five our of the pocket of his jeans, "1 scoop. One chocolate, and one…" — he screwed up his face a little — "…strawberry."

Two minutes later, Dean was licking his chocolate ice cream cone, headed back toward Sam on the bench. He really wasn't that big a fan of ice cream — unless it was on top of pie — but when he had seen the vendor setting up his cart, he had mentioned it to Sam. Sam loved ice cream, even if he did insist on stupid flavors, like plain vanilla, or strawberry — and Dean had been almost unbelievably happy when his brother had perked up a little, and shown some interest. Ice cream was probably not the most nutritious thing in the world, but Sam's appetite since the second trial had been nonexistent. Dean had practically force-fed him some soup the day before, guilting him into it, no holds barred — and been thoroughly punished for it 15 minutes later, when Sam regurgitated the soup all over Dean's shoes.

Dean slowed as he approached the bench, regarding his brother. Sam had a wistful expression on his face, and Dean tracked the line of his gaze: Sam was watching a young man — probably 20-something. He was in the "dogs allowed" section of the park, and engaged in an active and entertaining game of frisbee with a handsome golden retriever.

A small smile appeared on Sam's face, which Dean studied for another moment before finishing his walk to the bench. "Here," he said, offering Sam the strawberry cone.

Sam accepted the cone with a soft "Thanks," and Dean took his rightful place next to Sam on the bench.

He slurped at his chocolate cone, watching the playful dog. Then he lowered the cone to his lap. "So, tell me about Riot," he said.

Sam started. His cone was still untouched, and beginning to melt. Sam took a small lick before the ice cream dribbled down to his hand. "What about him?" he asked, guardedly. "You know that I hit him with the Impala..

Dean nodded, taking another lick — his cone was nearly half gone, now. "I know that's how you met Amelia," he agreed. "But you never really told me about Riot. What kind of dog was he?" He gestured toward the running golden retriever. "Like that one?"

Sam had actually taken a full bite of ice cream, and he swallowed before shaking his head. "Nah. Riot was as Australian Shepherd — but I didn't really know that until Amelia told me." He took another small bite, and made a humming noise of pleasure that damn near sent Dean over the edge. He couldn't remember the last time Sam had enjoyed anything edible…or anything at all, come to think of it. He frowned as he swallowed his own ice cream, then took an angry crunch of cone.

"When I hit him," Sam suddenly continued, "he didn't look like much. We never could find his owner, so we're pretty sure he was a stray." He turned his head toward Dean and smiled. "He cleaned up real good, though. I can't imagine why anyone ever let him go." He returned his head back to its original position, and took another small bite of ice cream. He had eaten almost half the cone now, and Dean was almost finished with his.

"Did he act like somebody owned him once?" asked Dean. "You know, do tricks, shake hands, or anything?"

Sam nodded, his mouth full. He swallowed, then answered. "He was a great dog. House-trained, loved to be with his people…" Sam paused. "He was a great dog," he repeated lamely.

Dean chewed his last bite of cone, then cleared his throat. "Did you take him to the park and play frisbee?"

Sam was no longer looking at the man and his dog. Rather, he was regarding the ice cream cone he still held with growing disinterest. "Yeah," he answered softly. "Yeah, I did."

Dean nodded, then sat silently beside his brother for a few moments. Finally he reached for the cone Sam had stopped eating. "You done with that?" he asked.

Sam nodded, and let Dean have the cone. "It was good," he said. "Thanks."

Dean finished Sam's cone with two large bites, chewing noisily, and Sam smiled gently and titled his head back, exposing his face to the sun and closing his eyes.

Dean brushed his fingers off on his jeans, glanced at his brother, and spoke. "Sammy, I know I told you to make a choice — but I wish I hadn't." Sam lowered his chin and looked at Dean. "I wish I had told you to stay with them. I would have, if I'd had any idea what was going to happen to you."

Sam placed a cold hand on Dean's warm arm. "Don't," he said. "Don't second-guess yourself — it's not going to change anything for either of us."

Dean just nodded, swallowed thickly, and watched the golden retriever and his owner. This time Sam followed his gaze. Then he sat up a little straighter.

"Dean," he said, inhaling deeply as he prepared for a long speech. "The reason I felt so connected to Riot — when I hit him, he was a stray — and so was I. I didn't have a home, anymore. Sure, I had the Impala — but the Impala is only home if you're in it with me. I thought you were gone again — this time for good — and I was as unloved and dirty as that poor dog, with even less reason to live."

Dean started to shake his head and Sam continued talking before his brother could interrupt. "That's what connected Amelia and I, too. She was lost. I was lost. Riot was lost. We all were hurt. We saved each other — don't get me wrong…I'm not sure any of us would be here anymore if we hadn't found each other when we did."

Dean looked at him sharply, and Sam smiled. "Part of me will always miss both of them, I guess — but a bigger part of me wants to be with you. I can't be sorry for that. I won't — and neither should you."

Dean looked away in time to watch the now-leashed golden retriever leaving the park with its owner. "I'm glad you got a dog," he said quietly. "You always wanted a dog."

Sam murmured his agreement.

"Maybe," Dean continued, a little fearfully, "maybe when the trials are over, and the gates are closed — we can live at the bunker full-time, and we could get a dog."

Sam was glad Dean wasn't looking at him when he responded. His knew his eyes were clouded, and sad, but his words were for Dean's ears. "Bunker doesn't have a yard," he noted. "But there are these really cool hypo-allergenic cats. We could have a cat."

He was smiling by the time Dean turned to look at him. "I don't do litter," Dean said, and Sam chuckled.

"Well, maybe it we walked a dog every day, it would be okay."

Dean nodded. "We can do that. This park is pretty close to the bunker."

Both brothers looked away from each other, out onto the park proper, both believing they were giving something to the other. "Okay," Sam said quietly.

"Okay," Dean agreed.

**End**


End file.
